Issue # 58 March 2004 thewigwambam.com
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Ignoring Objectivity Since 1998 WIG WAM BAM “Albuquerque zine of music & nepotism”
LOCAL SHOWS NM venues, bands from here or there
Shine Cherries, Sam Lowrey, Nels Andrews & The El Paso Eyepatch, the Dirty Novels, the NobHillbillies, Hoboes In Limbo, the Cuts, Bart Davenport, the Coachwhips, the Foxx
DENVER, COLORADO
Detroit Cobras, Orang-a-tones, Foggy Mountain Fuckers Twist & Shout Records/CDs Black & Red Records
EL PASO, TEXAS
the Von Bondies, the Start, the Catheters, the Rotten Apples 3/22/04 @ Club 101, 500 San Francisco St. El Paso TX
WRANGLER RANCH (courtesy of Mr Wild n' Wooly himself, Johnny Wrangler)
the Handsome Family, Red Cloud 2/6/04 @ Climax Lounge , Denver, CO the Dirtbombs, the Tarmints 2/7/04 @ Bluebird Theater, Denver CO
LOCAL RELEASES NM bands, any label
the Dirty Novels s/t self-release CD EP [2004]
LOCAL SHOWS
SHINE CHERRIES, SAM LOWREY, NELS ANDREWS & the EL PASO EYEPATCH 2/1/04 @ Atomic Fuck “The Game”. Who cares about a bunch of steroid-dosed meatheads chasing a football around? This is Shine Cherries Sunday! Another great set of opiated-- opiated with a vengeance!--nu-country, like Mazzy Star vs the Velvet Underground a-playin’ out in the barn. One of the more original accomplished outfits around these days, now that bassman Johnny “Casio” lives in Denver, Shine Cherries sets are even more special than before. Out-of-towner Sam Lowrey did an admirable job for a solo guy on his own in the midst of a show full of people attending to cheer on the home team. He was very comfortable in front of the crowd, even while having to chat us up a bit to make sure we paid attention to his low-key story-songs. Speaking of story-songs, Nels & the 'Eyepatch (the Eyepatch being basically half of the Little Kiss Records roster) did a fine set of gentle but un-wimpy twang balladry despite a few hardware glitches. Even though his guitar shorted in & out of play, Nels trouped on with that first-rate full voice of his. A nice easy-going-down night all around. Touchdown! It was a good way for me to begin a self-imposed quiet sabbatical from loud music, smokey bars and you drunks for a month and more… the DIRTY NOVELS 3/20/04 @ Atomic the NOBHILLBILLIES, HOBOES IN LIMBO @ Burt’s Keith who? The Dirty Novels’ new sounds bring to mind everyone from Ronson to Townsend to White. No, no, not dickhead Jack White but the amazing Clarence White who-- until his death struck by a car while unloading his guitar (true!) --was the early 60s Byrds’ secret weapon (but even better, the guitar-pickin’ soul of the Kentucky Colonels, the most innovative [but within the Standard framework] bluegrass band of the time). Las Novelas Cochinas are finally moving into their own sound gracefully but still with a rocknroll heart & soul. Some of the old Novels songs, reworked, are almost unrecognizable until you catch the familiar riffs. Considering all their upcoming April shows, they’re turning into the Atomic house-band. Previously, next door at Burt’s, I heard the NobHillbillies with a good bunch of bluegrass standards, pickin’ smooth as ice out on the cow pond in January but not slicker than calf-slobber. Wonderful harmonies from all the big fellas in the band rounded out their trad sound. Authentic is the word for the most part although--too bad-- the electric violin sounded sorta synth-like but that little ol’ gal was a good sawyer anyways. Openers Hoboes In Limbo, despite a middlin’ rough set, somehow exhibit an air of togetherness that wasn’t there before. Lots of practice I reckon. Their harmonies are better than ever and, as the band continue to improve, will be key to finding their band's distinct voice. the CUTS, BART DAVENPORT, the COACHWHIPS, the FOXX 3/23/04 @ Burt’s Fresh back from SXSW, the Foxx seemed maybe a bit road-weary (party-weary?) as they played hometown hosts tonight and went up first; maybe not liquored up enough yet? Or more likely, I wasn’t liquored up enough yet. Despite a few fumblings, they’re tighter every day, almost to the point of being scary. To the crowd I say, Dance, fools, dance! San Francisco’s Coachwhips (who may or not have been liquored up; I think that’s just how they are) --unbeknownst to everyone who was getting' down to the Foxx --were setting up their gear at the rear of the bar. They slammed out their signature twisted chaotic table-jumpin’ caterwaul as if Tucson’s Doo Rag had been adopted and home-schooled by ‘50s nutcase Hasil Adkins. That sonically trashed wild-man act would wear thin after seeing the ‘whips about twice but its always a crowd-pleaser for those folks in the crowd who --you can always tell--have never seen this type of live frenzy before. Most amusing (probably to the band’s chagrin) was the drunkpunkdude who flailed around right up in leadwildman John Dwyer’s face. Dwyer managed to subtly get back at the guy by humping him during one number. Hilarity. A fun and crazed set but I couldn’t see playing this on your stereo much. To paraphrase ol’ Willy Shakespeare, the live show’s the thing. I've managed to miss the Cuts all eighteen and a half times they’ve played here in the past few months but finally made it for this set of which I was less than impressed. They’ve pretty much dropped the Nuggets-style rocknroll I first heard them play at Sprockets a couple years back . Actually that’s no crime: it was a decent sound but they were never really distinguished among dozens of genre sound-alikes anyway. Tonight it was more like File Under: male vocalists while leaning towards bands like Denver’s the Czars. Well played for sure and accomplished musically but did nothing to excite me at all. But!! the Cuts’ rhythm section backing Bart Davenport was the hands-down winner of the night. Davenport’s solo CDs (as I found out after buying one) only hint slightly of the smooth rockin’ soul pouring out of this impromptu trio; apparently Carlos Palacios (bass) and Garrett Goddard (drums) have only been jamming with Davenport for a about week and a half, since SXSW. Actually, “jamming” is not apt ‘cause it sounds as if they’ve been doing it for months, not pulling it out of the ass like most jam-bands do. The two really punch up his well-written songs that in their studio versions are unfortunately over-produced to my taste, but still show brilliance in structures and lyrics.
DENVER, COLORADO
Less than a year ago, I had the distinct pleasure of accompanying Wig Wam Bam contributors Marvel Girl & Apache Chief to the esteemed Lion’s Lair in Denver for a two-night stand of the fabulous Detroit Cobras. The ‘Cobras (the absolute best old-school R&B rocknroll band on the planet) just came back for another two-nighter last month. As the Marvel & Apache duo were bowlin’ it up at the Lebowski Fest up in the Great Lakes region, this time I had to make the trip solo. But thanks to the hostilities--oops--hospitalities of our Denver correspondent Johnny Wrangler (Shine Cherries, ex-Venus Diablo, ex-M80s etc) and his lovely wife Linda, I had my own damn bedroom as well as chauffeur service to and from the club, area record shops and a killer hangover breakfast spot with Chris (Czars) Pearson. Friday, February 27: Playing hooky from work, I hit the road in time to slip into Denver just before rush hour. A walk down the block from Wrangler Ranch homestead (a charming 1880s Victorian) got us some pretty decent Mexican grub, leaving room for a leisurely disco-nap before it was time to head to the Lair early enough to snag seating in this cramped, crummy dive--perfect for rocknroll, baby! Not that I plan on ever sitting when the Cobras come on. How the fuck anyone can stand still when they’re in full effect is beyond me, daddy. Our booth (one out of two in the joint) was situated so that you’re just about “backstage”, with the spotlights in your eyes as well as the bands’. The place has a weird but cool set-up: a tight-squeeze standing-room-only aisle in front of the bar which is front of the stage. Bizarre but it has a certain charm; that is, if ya don’t mind yer nose in your neighbor’s armpits. Unfortunately, we made it in plenty of time for Denver’s own Orang-a-tones. Since they also cover late50s/early 60s rocknroll, one might think they are a good match for the bill. But first of all, ain’t nobody a match for the Cobras. Second, who the fuck wants to hear covers of the Beach Boys if you can’t even do passable harmonies or (ugh) Sam the Sham’s Wooly Bully? I’m old enough to have heard that bastard on the radio the first time around and it sucked then, a dumb novelty hit. The Orang-a-tones’ choice of covers were crappy pop oldies that no one much likes in their original versions. Their only saving grace was the dual sax action but even there it was slim pleasure. Insult to injury, the Cobras were late so the Orang-a-tones extended their set. Oh agony! When the Cobras finally showed up they tossed off a short set at about three times normal speed. Oh no! are the rumors true that success has gone to their pointy heads? We figured that since their previous night’s show was in San Francisco that the grueling drive had done them in. But it turns out they flew in--still no picnic but what the fuck, y’know? I danced regardless ‘cause it was irresistible but... Saturday, February 28: Nope! The rumors were false. (I suspected as much because although I kept hearing what a bitch Singer Rachel Nagy has become, when I talked with her last time, she was as sweet & friendly as could be). True to Cobras form, night two kicked everyone’s ass up & down the block with solid R&B stomp. We had no seats but stood juggling our drinks in the aisle for locals the Foggy Mountain Fuckers , another mostly cover outfit who pulled out lots of vintage juke joint roadhouse country tunes. The polar opposite of the previous night’s Orang-a-tones, the Fuckers had attitude & passion and got the place jumpin’. Fuck that “No Depression” genre, they honky-tonked hard like a good alcoholic band ought to. Ignoring all the decorum of social order, I happened to be belly up at the bar’s drink station when the Cobras hit the stage and I stayed put, dancing up a storm. You need to get to the bar for a drink, son?, I’m shimmy a little outta your way but will side right back in place soon’s you’re done. Fuck it. True to form, the Detroit Cobras made every long minute of my twelve hour round trip worth it. Also true to form, Rachel spent lots of time talking to everyone, plopped down on the stage with her merch case. Guitarist Maribel Restropo is also first-class as I found when I pulled her aside to ask about her previous band (a rock-hard Motor City outfit that sorta reminds of a hard rock Jayne County & the Backstreet Boys), the Buzzards, who were represented by a couple of cuts on The Sympathetic Sounds of Detroit LP a couple years back. Don’t let the fact that this record was produced by fuckhead Jack White deter you. You can always skip his one whiney song but surprisingly groove on his barrelhouse piano turn sitting in with the Detroit Cobras’ cover of Otis Reddings’ Shout Bama Lama, one of their top numbers. In fact this is the song I just had to grill Rachel about ‘cause I can’t find Otis’ version noplace, not in legit stores or file-stealing networks like Kazaa. Turns out she has the original 60s single so I now know that it actually does exist. My hunt will continue! Which in fact it did when Mr Wrangler took me around to some of the better record shops in Denver earlier that very day. I didn’t find Shout Bama Lama but plenty of other wallet-draining tunes. I’d hit Wax Trax on my last trip so we decided to check out some others: At Twist & Shout Records on Alameda I found a couple of old discs I was looking for --Jerry lee Lewis rareties, early Ike & Tina-- and some new stuff-- ambient indierock Denali, disco-death-trash Glass Candy-- but their prices held me back. At Twist & Shout CDs across the street, I picked out a couple of things (the new Electrocute from Germany, ex-Golden Showers in Albuquerque and just as decadently perverse as ever [ interviewed by Obenjyo last issue!] and a mega-collection of early 60s Brit teen songstress Helen Shapiro) but the store's hipness factor got to me: too many retro-toys and horrid collegerock on the store’s PA and a badly organized book selection. Besides being precariously stacked, each genre was with its aural counterpart: blues books with the blues CDs, alt.rock books with the alt.rock CDs, making it impossible to simply look through the fuckin’ books. I did find however find a copy of Bubblegum Music Is the Naked Truth, a wonderful collection subtitled The Dark History of Prepubescent Pop from the Banana Splits to Britney Spears covering everything from 60s Saturday morning cartoon bands to free flexi 45 RPM records that you used to cut off the back of cereal boxes . By the time I was eleven, I had an Archies one, a couple of Bobby Sherman’s and maybe a Sugar Bears--its all kinda blurry at this point, maybe ‘cause I had to eat whole boxes of nauseating sucrose-encrusted puffs to get to the cardboard-backed flexi-disc that invariably curled and wreaked havoc with your phonograph. Next was Black & Red Records on Wadsworth Ave in nearby ‘burb Arvada. We couldn’t believe we were at the right address when we pulled into a strip mall but there it was , nested in with Hobby Lobby & dance studios for 10 year old girls and said right in the windows in large letters: PUNK BLUES INDIE GARAGE etc, an odd effect. But inside the selection of cheap vinyl was outstanding. I immediately dove into the old soul and R&B section, pulling up all the Wilson Pickett and Marvelettes you could ever want. The newer stuff was handily categorized into punk, new wave, post-modern & such and they actually knew what they were talking about. The selection was amazing, everything from the Mummies to Sing Sing to Devendra Banhart to Red Kross. My fave score was the Oriental Special Edition of Girls in the Garage, Asian girls covering early Stones, Nancy Sinatra, 1910 Fruitgum Company, the Clovers and even the Beatles 1965 creepo-tune Run For Your Life, a menacing song about killing your girlfriend if she goes out with anyone else. Most are sung in Malaysian Chinese and some obviously in phonetic English. For Price and selection, Black & Red is the best record store I’ve ever seen. When in Denver, I’ll have no reason to go to any of those other shops. Watch out, Johnny, next time I’ll make you take me there right away and we’ll spend three or four hours instead of one…
EL PASO, TEXAS
the VON BONDIES, the START, the CATHETERS, the ROTTEN APPLES 3/22/04 @ Club 101, 500 San Francisco St. El Paso TX I set up a work trip to Las Cruces NM around this date so I could slip over the border to catch the Von Bondies in Texas. But as the time rolled closer I became somewhat ambivalent, like, are they really all that good? They're OK but… However after locating Club 101 early in the afternoon when I rolled into town, I headed for the nearest hotel. Who do I see at the check-in counter? The freakin’ Von Bondies, that’s who. Alright, so I guess I’m in the right place after all… I turned and asked bassist Carrie Smith some shit like “Ready for the show? ” which took her by surprise 'cause I didn’t look like a rocker, being in my hayseed disguise since I was down south to do my day-job thing with farmers. She had a few friendly words but was obviously road-weary. I tried to talk to their manager who turned out to be the stereotypical stick-up-the-ass Brit, mate. As one of the “media scum” (thanks, Harry! I like the sound of that), my first thought was to get some road stories or something for this zine but just happening to show up at their hotel seemed too likely a story and not wanting to seem like a paparazzi scurve (“Von Bondies Coked-Up in No-Pants Party at Texas Hotel!” ), I decided to back off. Anyway it was a nice place to spend the afternoon before the show, walking around the old downtown area, now past its better days but with great old buildings and a vibrant street vendor scene going on being-- what?-- a half-mile from the bridge to Mexico. I could even see Juarez from my 5th floor room. I recalled the ‘hood from meeting up there with PauliB, post-Chinese Love Beads, pre-Dirty Novels. The Club 101 is set about a half-block from the revitalized (retro-style lamp posts, brick walks ,etc) warehouse/ railroad district with the city art museum and civic center nearby. From the outside the 101 looks like hell, especially with that great big hole of the demolished building next door but its actually not bad inside. Not what you’d call comfortable but plenty of room to mill about. The openers --Seattle’s Rotten Apples-- were decent enough generic hard chickrock but with an indie slant. Their lead reminds of ‘burque’s Yvonne Ulibarri (formerly of Amigas many, many years ago now fronting salsa-loungers Café Mocha) with her deep voice & decent range, mannish clothes and heavy on the mascara. The old guitar player dude was a goofball and looked like a cleaned-up Fugazi veteran. Since their regular bassplayer was out due to a death in the family, they grabbed long-time friend and LA session bassist Miko Watanabe who told me she doesn’t have a regular band but picks up all kinds of studio work, most recently with Dave Navarro. I didn’t wanna be rude and say who gives a shit about Navarro? but Watanabe obviously knows her chops. She was seriously concentrating on the unfamiliar songs the entire set but still managed a nice loose sound. Their drummer was --well-- how the hell do you drum in a white pants suit? She looked like a cover-girl for Mademoiselle magazine and even sang a few numbers in that flat and toneless punk-grrl voice, not so great. For an opening band, the Apples were alright but don’t expect them to hit it big, sorta generic women-who-rock stuff. The name The Catheters always gets me confused with the crustmetal Catheter but they sure sound lots better than that. They put on rompin’ stomp hardass blueslike garage-o-mania set although, not knowing their catalog, most of the songs sounded alike to me. To my taste, the trouble with this kinda stuff is its got no finesse. Everyone and his brother’s band these days claims roots in the Dolls, Stooges, MC5 but all those had bands had songs with melody, pop hooks and differentiation. The Cathethers rocked hard though and were friendly guys when I talked to them out back later. My favorite set of the night was the Start, a post-new wave synth pop band that appealed big-time to a couple of young gothy boys down in front who were hoping around like mad. Singer Aimee Echo has more hooks in her vocal delivery than the actual songs. Well, that’s sorta half true. The bass and guitar players also pulled keyboard duty which they had but little time to do live, robbing the band of its dancey punched-up Duran Duran stylings with a hard backbeat pop sound. Echo’s voice always sounds like she’s on verge of losing it. In fact, from the stage she even said she was fighting laryngitis but it sounded just as good and unique as on their records to me. Her phrasing and twee range is reminiscent of Kate Bush and Colleen Fitzpatrick (the latter fronted Eve’s Plum--one of the better but mostly unknown alt.pop girlie bands of the early 90s-- but now wastes her time & voice as singer Vitamin C. Horrid!). After the show, when I thanked Echo for coming and playing a high energy set, she put her arms out for a big hug and thanked me for thanking her. I don’t guess many people ever think to just say ‘thanks’ to any bands. (notice how I always subtly say when speaking of bands “ she told me” or “ he said to me” like, “oh yah while passing the crack pipe to my good buddy Lou Barlow, he sez…” .Wow, What a big shot bitch I am, eh? ). So finally the Von Bondies are up (there was another band called My Enemies Friends who cancelled—no loss; their mp3s sound like straight-up crapola punk rock). Even though I’d had enough Stoli n’ Sodas to get me dancing, I was somewhat underwhelmed, although they certainly kicked ass over their records. On the whole though just too much Led Zep white-boy blues stuff. Miles above the White Stripes (who I can’t stand) the Bondies -- no matter how much they try to distance themselves--still recognizably sound like part of the current Detroit “garage” thing. Too bad. A true rocknroll revival from Detroit ought to concentrate on mining 50s rock n’ soul & Ron Asheton and less on tryin’ to riff like Ted Useless--oops--Ted Nugent. Case in point: there were a few a-holes who cleared out a huge spot by their inane moshing. Moshing to garage? Oh c’mon, the sound is nowhere near “punkrock, dude”. I guess its merely a Pavlovian shithead response to big beats by meatheads. Not a top show of the year or anything, it was still quite nice to check out some new stuff in a new place. Even though its somewhat hidden away, there’s some cool happenin’s in ‘Paso.
WRANGLER RANCH
from wild n' wooly, rootin' tootin' Denver, Colorado (courtesy of Mr Wild n' Wooly himself, Johnny Wrangler) comes the latest installment of …WRANGLER RANCH the HANDSOME FAMILY, RED CLOUD 2/6/04 @ Climax Lounge , Denver, CO Howdy 'querques! Denver's Climax Lounge boasts the largest disco ball in the four corners...or so they say. It is a big ball. A big, spinning, shimmering, mirror-crusted ball that dominates the room and sends inquisition spittles of light into the eyes of many. Some are annoyed by this precocious presence, others indifferent, but for Rennie of the Handsome Family it was... mesmerizing! So much so that she (verbally) offered a kitten sacrifice to the orb..."I think it would like a kitten," she mused aloud gazing dreamily at the shining spectre..."I just want to touch it....it's beautiful." Competing with "el rolo-disco" was Brett's feedback fracas due to the soundman's incompetence...or some sound interference relaying to such matters of feedback, perhaps unintentionally, that may or not be the fault of said, or not said, soundman...(names withheld to protect the innocent, plus, I don't know...coulda been the banjo). Needless to say the kids and folk were treated to an aural and sonic collage filled with Macintosh drums and brush-played washboards. Music that spans technology. Their live drummer, Daryl, good citizen that he is, could not think of a clever enough reason to skip out on jury duty that day, and so his absence was somewhat of a disappointment. Nonetheless, songs of Christmas, cats, wine and blood poured through the set accented with autoharp and harmonium. Many of the songs had introductions with inspirational references such as, "the three Wal-Marts in Albuquerque that are slowly bridging together to form a brain," or the love-making rituals of ants, or cannibalism. The cannibalism story preceded the Song of a Hundred Toads which has been in my head all day thanks to one of the shows sponsors, KCUV 1510 AM "your home for Americana." That's a pretty cool thing about Denver...the AM dial. My only presets on the radio are CU's radio 1190 and the self-proclaimed "home of Americana." AM 1190 re-aired an interview with Rennie earlier in the day, and her charm and wit made for an enjoyable broadcast. I love the way the Handsomes sing together, Brett's deep baritone fills the songs like a rain bucket emptying out a swamp dingy while Rennie's voice drapes lightly like spanish moss dangling over that very swamp. Their playful bickering just adds to the "Family" sound...you know how families are. All in all, a very enjoyable show. I missed the first band, but caught local Denver act, Red Cloud, for the first time and was pretty impressed. The sound was spot on for these guys, and the best I've heard at the Climax. Their set started off with a couple slow numbers in the alt-country vein before hammering out some Crazy Horse style rockers. The singer/guitar-player had Neil Young's lumbering strut and swagger, but his vocal style was more George Jones, especially on the quieter songs. Lead-guitarist, Jason (don't know the last name), played his Rickenbacker remarkably well, and whipped up some kick-ass leads during the "heated moments" when he seemed caught in the path of twister while cattle-wrestling at a rodeo. Red Cloud seemed extremely comfortable on stage and well-rehearsed. I'll be seeing more of them for sure. the DIRTBOMBS, the TARMINTS 2/7/04 @ Bluebird Theater, Denver CO Detroit. Motor City. Never been there. No matter, the Dirtbombs brought "the city" to the Bluebird Theater Saturday night, along with some serious kick-ass R&B rave-ups! Man, their music makes you feel good. Led by Mick Collins, ex-Gories, the band was tight and loose all over...for sure! Two bass players, two drummers, and some sweet, soulful, punk inflicted garage rock. The drummers were hittin' 'em hard and held no punches...although there was some variation, they were pretty lined-up, which got me to thinking...is this really necessary? Of course it is...that's the power! I think the last time I saw two drummers on a stage was Fugazi at Sunshine a couple of years ago, so you just don't know what simultaneous snare hits and thunderous toms are like until you got it right in front of you. Speaking of "in front of you," I spied an Albuquerque rock goddess at the front of the stage just before the D-bombs started and went over to say hello. Miss Amy of Roxiehearts and her "good-time gals" were screaming and drinkin', bumpin' and grindin', sultry and saucy (must of had some pretty good swigs from the flasks before being swiped by the bouncers)...anyway the one bass player in front of us had the leash on that puppy and was walkin' it like he was at the Westminster dog show...the "best in show" award, however, goes to the other bass player who had the fuzz going strong on her "mustang" bass which kind of had a guitar-like quality to it with it's distorted sustain and counterpoint melodies....oh yeah, and she was cute (as most Asian girls seem to be) and energetic and had some serious moves. At one point her and Mick did some bend over backwards limbo type dance while rockin out and she almost fell over. Despite her being about half his size, I think he had her beat. Mick has an incredibly soulful voice and picked away at some amazing leads throwing in some high leg-kicks every once and awhile. If Otis Redding were to front the MC5, they might come close to this soulful power, high-octane concoction. Local band The Tarmints kicked out their own brand of jams and got the crowd pumped for the Dirtbombs. I was most impressed with their instruments like the gold hollow body bass that their female four-stringer pawed...(and enjoyed every minute of it judging by the grooove-smile on her face)...the lead singer's big bodied metallic blue Guild also had my envied attention...as well as the double humbucker hollow body telecaster of the other guitarist. The music itself was pretty rockin' and was action packed with some guitar playin' mojo moves like the "stand-on-the-bass-drum-and-jump-off-stunt" or the "lay-flat-on-your-back-strum" but sometimes those moves just seem kind of "played." Gotta stir up the crowd's attention somehow I guess. To recap on a high note, without having any of the Dirtbombs or Gories music, and only recently being introduced to them via the AM 1190, it was a gig worth its' weight in gold...black gold...texas tea...motor city bloodflow. double wam bam thank you ma'am Until next time, Adios the Wrangler
LOCAL RELEASES
the DIRTY NOVELS s/t self-release CD EP [2004] thedirtynovels.com I didn’t like this the first time I heard it. So I played it again and again until I did. After hitting play 5 times in 24 hours, I got past my dislike of the startling squeaky-clean mix and pro pressing but more importantly, past my expectations of what I thought the Dirty Novels debut should sound like. Although the Novels sound has come into its own since the first line-up, I found I still had the old expectations. While I wish I had the early demos, I’m glad this isn’t it. Over and over, I relearn that recordings shouldn’t necessarily sound like the live show. With multiple takes, overdubs, double-tracking and varying levels of compression, how could it? And Mi Amor es Electrico here may be the definitive version and the best choice to close the CD. Having only recently been added to the live show, the keys on Candy Can’t Wait are a nice touch although I wish they had more of the classic-sessionman-Nicky Hopkins feel. Synth-y is ok but why do rockers forget about electric piano? But that’s a minor complaint. This & the Foxx’s recent CD are the tip-top pair of new local releases, all ya need for yer next ‘burque-based dance party.
Wig Wam Bam (by Captain America PO BX 4865 Albq NM 87196 captainamerica1941@hotmail.com)
Wig Wam Bam is written by Captain America  | po box 4865 | albuquerque, nm 87196